𝑝𝑠𝑙 — the merry apple fair.

[enswathe]

( the storm that swept across the area only weeks prior thankfully caused little damage to the crops. the frost remained for under two days before returning to a more agreeable climate. the harvest commenced on schedule with no complications at the end of august, and thither atticus went to bring in the harvest at old squire howarth's land. a commitment to service and respect for the squire's position and title (though lesser in the community than it once had been) compelled atticus to help the reclusive man. but, beneath his altruism, is a desire — nay, selfishness to avoid the gossip igniting meryton. attention, especially the unfavourable kind, rests uneasily on him and his instinct is to ignore and disregard. as it is written, where no wood is, there goeth the fire. so, with concerted attention to propriety, atticus has kept away from meryton for these weeks. naturally, he imposed a temporary self-exile from longbourn as well, although the demeanour and words of mr. bennet suggested that in addition to being unnecessary, it was unkind. when atticus arrived at longbourn that cold, wet august morning, mr. bennet readily accepted his apologies for they are both endowed with sense and tact. unlike mrs. bennet who, upon hearing the carefully whispered story, immediately loosened her tongue, erupting in fury and plunging the household into an uproar. despite atticus's and mr. bennet's attempt at discretion, miss bennet's return to longbourn was not a private affair. before she even arrived, most of the servants knew where and with whom she spent the night and were already spreading it to other servants in meryton. for mrs. bennet, who spends a great deal of energy in the pursuit of good husbands for her two remaining unmarried daughters, actions are counterproductive in that endeavour. quite wrongly, atticus believed three weeks was enough time to quell the gossip or for another scandal to occur. it does not take much to excite and enrage meryton. of course, town culture and countryside culture are wildly different, even in a country town such as meryton. chiefly, most of the labourers are men with time and strength only for work, not gossip while some others are migratory with no ties to the community. however, meryton is full of fools who have time and strength for both, explaining why the slander is still circulating through the town like a plague. not a word of it was spoken in the fields so it was believed that it was forgotten and now safe enough to return from exile. so atticus thought nothing of it when he refused payment from squire howarth but did agree to join him on his gig into town for the merry apple fair, a yearly event celebrating the end of the harvest and the last outdoor meet before winter's cold breath sends everyone indoors. when atticus and squire howarth arrive, the sun is high in the sky and the fairground hums with conviviality. the band strikes up a lively tune as another cockfight begins and the men place their bets. children dash and skip about, their cheeks pink from delight and hearty servings of apple cake. the older women huddle together on the benches or near the closed stalls while the young women participate in the smock race or dance to the music. tis the one day of the year that all social class is abolished and everyone from sir william lucas to the vagabond is on an equal level. in a festive and packed atmosphere like this, it's not difficult for atticus to enter and go unnoticed. still clad in simple rough clothing with tanned skin and unshaven cheeks, he is indistinguishable from most labourers currently roistering at the fair. if he wished, he could remain hidden for all three days of the fair. soon enough, he does find himself alone, misplacing sight of the squire near a jester act. but there's no time to mount a search for atticus soon finds a table fraught with goblets of apple cider and an empty barrel on which to sit. only after several moments of peace does he spy from the corner of his eye, miss bennet surrounded by two genteel women, bedecked in muslin and fur. from the woeful expression clouding her face, atticus assumes the words being spoken by the women do not match the joyful atmosphere of the fair. it takes him but a moment to decide to intervene. while not desirable, slander upon himself is tolerable but not on someone as blameless as miss bennet, and not whilst compunction weighs on him. he slides off the barrel and stalks over to the trio of women. the mood immediately darkens by his imposing presence and his deep voice, normally cheery, is thick with annoyance. ) And what, pray tell, should I have done? Abandon her in the rain and frost, condemning her to illness or death? Or perhaps I should have taken her home immediately, risking both our lives in the name of propriety? ( with his posture much improved and shoulders set back, atticus gives the appearance of a master reprimanding his servants. ) On every occasion, common decency triumphs over decorum and all of us would be remiss if we fail to practice and live by the statement. For very easy is it to unbridle one's tongue when removed but different when involved and desperate. I hope misfortunate befalls neither of you to remain naïve as to who is your neighbour and who is not. ( the glare he focuses on the women is enough to send them scurrying away. the victory of this, while exhilarating, may prove to be pyrrhic. they may return shortly with their husbands, smug in anticipation of the beating he may receive. certainly, at least, more wood is tossed upon the fire. however, the joy of this event may wash off any forming resentment and, so long as both he and miss bennet avoided them, the incident will be soon forgotten. )

Comments

[moralized]

[ Mr. Bennet makes a few benign remarks about Atticus's health and stepping into the fight at the fair. He is by no means unkind to his friend, but he simply has a personality that won't allow him to be serious for more than a few minutes at a time. Whether from natural disposition or having to endure a marriage he rushed into foolishly, Mr. Bennet is a light-hearted wit and nothing will budge him from that position.

Mary, on the other hand is a bit of an anomaly within her family. Granted, Jane's sweetness and shyness is a little out of place as well, but Jane is valued and respected by all the Bennets and Mary feels she is only so when she has accomplished something impressive. Here at the table, Mary knows that she must be a good hostess for their guest, but the reason why has become clouded. It should be for praise, should it not? If she performs her role admirably, than perhaps her parents will compliment her and Mary thrives off compliments. Yet as the day has worn on and her thoughts keep running away from her, she thinks perhaps the praise doesn't matter. Perhaps she wants to be a good hostess because Mr. Cartwright deserves it. ]

It was a desperate situation and I can find no fault on your part in how it was handled. It is of course unfortune that violence was seen as a recourse by those men, but hoping for human decency is never foolhardy. I think you very brave for standing up for those who felt they could not stand up for themselves.

[ She nearly adds that it was the good Christian thing to do, but she hesitates and the moment passes. In a way, it feels dismissive of him to think of it as something any Christian would do. There are many among them who would have no thought of intervening, but he is different. Now she is glad she didn't add that part.

She goes back to her soup and for the first time since arriving at home, she doesn't look to her father to see if she spoke well or if he's impressed. It suddenly doesn't seem vital that she know what he thinks of her behavior.

A sudden thought strikes her and she quickly sets down her soup and dabs at her mouth with her napkin. ]

Oh, sir! I have only just thought- Your dog is all alone. Should he be brought here? Or we can send someone to feed him.

[ It's so ingrained in her head that a servant will carry on with duties that it took her until now to remember that Mr. Cartwright keeps no servants. If only she hadn't rushed from his room earlier, he could have spoken of his concerns on his dog and horse right then and there. ]

[enswathe]

( at mr. bennet's comment, atticus ripostes that the next time he elects to engage in a physical altercation, he shall choose him as his second. then atticus immediately retracts his statement and says that a broomstick would prove more advantageous as a second except if barking irons are used. if that were the case, atticus would assure the broomstick is the hard kind to ensure the pistols went off.

the exchange ends and, for a couple of moments, it's quiet except for the soft clings of silverware against glassware before miss bennet breaks it with her solicitude. he glances at miss bennet through his eyelashes, his bangs almost obscuring his vision, and a small smile graces his mouth. ) Already handled, Miss Bennet though I thank you for your concern. Earlier, your footman, Mr. Atwood, delivered a message to the squire wherein I asked him to care for my horse and dog while I recovered. To which, he agreed.

( his smile blossoms to a wide grin that he directs at mr. bennet, but his tone is entirely serious. ) Anyways, I doubt your mother wants to be in the same house with two dogs. ( the pair both laugh, a hearty kind that fills the room with a warmth more intense than the candlelight. mr. bennet's chuckles subsides and he asks that surely mrs. bennet has a better imagination than to deem him that minor and downtrodden creature.

atticus shrugs and dips his spoon into his soup. ) Regardless of the state of Mrs. Bennet's imagination, it'd be a great honour if she thought of me as a dog. What other creature holds us in such high esteem when we do not deserve it? ( he uses his napkin to dab his mouth clean and indicates to the footman that he is finished with his soup. )

[moralized]

[ It isn't always easy to find where in a conversation she can hop in and more often that not Mary does so poorly, though she does not realize it. She tries to stay on topic, but always ends up too serious or too moralizing. Even now, she's trying to think up something clever to say about dogs, but the moment is already passing as their soup is taken away and the next course is brought in.

Her mind strays back to Mr. Cartwright's words and she is struck by a sudden curiosity. ]

Why would you feel you do not deserve esteem, sir? You have time and again shown your kindness and sense of right over wrong, even in the face of opposition.

[enswathe]

( the footman takes away his bowl and, within moments, sets down an empty plate for him. in an informal setting such as this, dinner is served buffet style. in atticus's peripheral vision, the footman stands just nearby, waiting and almost expecting to serve atticus his meal. however, atticus is a man of independence and serves himself a slice of mutton, asparagus, and a spoonful of potatoes. the vegetables only wade in butter. )

I speak in general terms. No, no. ( he shakes his head. ) I deserve every esteem bestowed upon my person as I am the paragon of integrity and humility. Shall we all agree to that?

( his behaviour would be condemned as contemptible and prideful if it wasn't for the facetious wink he shoots at mr. bennet. like most, atticus is aware of his merits and failings. he has tallied and studied them to value the good and resolve the bad. but he does not believe the ill outweighs the good. in the past, he has performed deeds that may not be highly regarded by polite society but, in the impolite society of war, they had to be done. it is a weak justification but no person who has experienced the grave places and ordeals he has would disagree. but this is neither the time, place, nor company to have that discussion.

atticus cuts a small piece of mutton, eats it, and almost grimaces. in typical british fashion, the food is plain and seasoned only barely. it's a certainty that the cook in the kitchen is not french nor french-trained. still, he continues to eat the mutton, dragging it through the butter from the asparagus for flavour. ) With food like this, I believe I shall make a swift recovery.

[moralized]

[ The manner in which he speaks is so clearly in jest that Mary feels no alarm at his behavior. Should he have spoken without cheek or a wink, she would seriously be debating with herself over his morals or lack thereof. But he seems in good-humor this evening, which is all one could wish of a patient convalescing in their home.

Without the opportunity of ever eating food prepared by a foreign cook, Mary's palette is accustomed to the bland food and takes him at his word. ]

I do hope it is so. I should not like to see you suffer any longer.

[ Any other reasons for a swift recovery besides that really don't enter her mind. What the locals will think, how Mrs. Bennet will react, and anything else simply matter little to her anymore.

Silence falls as they continue eating and both Mary and her father welcome it. It's impossible not to notice the lack of Mrs. Bennet's presence in the room when she is such a force throughout the house every day. Perhaps with a better education and better manners, her mother could have been someone to be admired but alas it was never to be the case. Mary honors her mother because the Bible says it must be so, but there are times uncharitable thoughts slip in.

Once enough of a pause has occurred, conversation with a guest must of course resume, and Mary takes the reins in an effort to be a good hostess. ]

I believe you mentioned once that you were a great traveler. That you "wore red-heeled shoes," was it? Would you speak of some of the places you have visited?

[enswathe]

( atticus was content enough to finish dinner without further conversation but miss bennet's request positions him askew, like one's first time on a ship on the waves. a low chuckle hides his imbalance. ) Customarily, I require a fee for my services as a raconteur. However, as I am amongst friends, I shall waive it for this one occasion.

( where should he begin?

should he speak of the azure waters of the mediterranean sea where grey-winged gulls fly in the sun's rays while salt lay heavy on his parched lips? or should he speak of winter in the lappland province of sweden? cheeks red and numb from the frost as green lights danced in the inky black sky. or should he recount the hazy glimpses of the great pyramid of giza through a storm of fine, yellow sand?

oh, what if he speaks not of past travels but of dreams for the future? his feet upon american grass, ancient and untouched, and his neck craned to behold the verdant crowns of the weymouth pines swaying in the unspoiled wind. a place in the green of leaves and in the shadow of mountains where true isolation and peace could be attained. he works for that.

but his tongue halts, catching itself on his teeth like a foothold trap.

no. he has been bared enough today. instead, he shall speak of a place that should provide familiarity and, perhaps, comfort. ) Your youngest sister currently resides in Newcastle, yes? I stayed a fortnight therein last year though — ( a grin tugs at his mouth. ) — I did not have the pleasure of encountering your sister or brother. ( he expresses the sentiment out of sheer formality and kindness not because he believes mr. or mrs. wickham would be pleasant company. if rumours are to be believed, mrs. wickham is mrs. bennet's facsimile and yet occupies less space in the realm of sensibility and good judgement. and mr. wickham? the less said about him, the better. without meeting the man, atticus's opinion of him is unfavourable.

he continues, ) The area is known for its glassworks and shipyards but, I confess, my time was spent mostly at the Literary and Philosophical Society. On the day of my departure, I realized that I had spent no time engaging Newcastle's society. Although, forsooth, I had very little inclination to do so.

( certainly, mr. and mrs. wickham's presence would have put him off society entirely. his interest in public society, especially in cities, has always been tenuous at best. he prefers seclusion or small gatherings of trusted friends. )

[moralized]

[ It is perhaps quite noticeable how both Mary and Mr. Bennet's countenance changes as he mentions Newcastle. He thinks to offer a comfortable subject by speaking of a place their loved ones dwell, but neither party ever feels much inclined to hear about the place. The word "Newcastle" brings to mind money, as Lydia only writes home when she wants to wail to Mrs. Bennet that she needs more of it, for Wickham has lost it all in some fashion or another. Both of the Bennets listen politely, but when he is done there is a stretch of silence as neither rushes to ask for more information on the city. A better educated woman than Mary would know how to gracefully navigate the subject, but she can only guess at it. ]

Yes. It is clear you enjoy literature.

[ She glances away awkwardly, as if someone will appear to whisper in her ear what she should say. But then she swallows her nervousness and tells herself that she is capable of this. She is intelligent if not world savvy. ]

Have you ever read The Decameron? I have not, as I have heard it contains stories not appropriate for ladies, but I should like to read more of Italy. Have you ever been there?

[enswathe]

( if he had known his praises about newcastle would be met with disinterest, he should've discussed his brief but uneventful visit to derbyshire, a trip marred by storms and chill. or he should've chronicled only the terrible characteristics of newcastle, such as the windy climate and poor waste disposal. yes, yes, that may have been met with better reception. an awkward silence stretches before them; atticus almost revels in it. if he says something else that elicits a similar reaction, they may think twice before requesting his presence. perhaps he'll be able to spend three days in his room, hardly interrupted.

his brows draw together tightly, a line appearing between them as if to stop them from merging. ) Yes? ( he clears his throat, baritone voice crisper now. ) Yes, yes to both. ( he pushes a potato around his plate like a sled through snow. ) If you are interested in Italy, I suggest Ultime Lettere di Jacopo Ortis or The Last Letters of Jacopo Ortis by Ugo Foscolo for further study. ( atticus doesn't speak italian; however, he speaks latin which allows him to give the impression that he speaks italian.

mr. bennet speaks up, "in her last letter, lizzie described reading a travel book about rome from an mr. bernard stirling. 'seven hills' or something. perhaps that should also supplement your study, child. wouldn't you say, mr. cartwright?"

atticus keeps his gaze down at his plate when he responds. ) I wouldn't know, Mr. Bennet, as I haven't read the book. I am prudent with my inclination to agree to someone's statements until I can verify them.

[moralized]

[ Perhaps it will soon become apparent that Mr. Cartwright wishes for solitude and not a barrage of questions and when Mary realizes that, it shall be a lesson learned. A good hostess puts the comfort of her guest first and pressing him for conversation is not what everyone wants.

Mr. Bennet's interjection is not unwelcome, though she has to school her features at talk of Lizzie. It is simply the way her father says his favorite daughter's name that does something to her face at times. Uncharitable thoughts need to be squashed immediately if she wants to remain a reasonable creature and not a petty girl steeped in jealousy. ]

Perhaps she will send it along with her next letter, if it is not an inconvenience to her. And I always have pocket money so I can pay the postage cost.

[ Mary never buys ribbons or cloth for herself. Only sheet music and one book per year since the cost is so great. Her dresses are still serviceable and she plans to disengage with the cruelties of society anyway, so she doesn't require new gowns. ]

And if you have interest, Mr. Cartwright, I could lend you the book once I have finished, so you might form your own opinion on its accuracy.

[enswathe]

( his appetite is sated enough that he signals for the footman to take his plate. the food was not the kind he usually eats for dinner, but it was fine enough that atticus won't go to bed starving. as the footman takes the plate, atticus reaches for his goblet to drink. it is then that miss bennet directs her remark at him. )

Thank you, I shall. ( he sets his glass down. ) But I have little hope that I will find his observations accurate. These days, commentary and historiography are so predicated on bias and sentimentality that they have lost their purpose and credibility. Idealization has blinded many to the realities and mistakes of these societies. They built these grand edifices and spoke wise words, so they did no wrong. I believe they deserve our reverence and we should drink from their fountain of knowledge, but not in the sycophantic way that is commonly practised. ( he takes another sip of his water. ) However, perhaps Mr. Stirling will be the exception, and some of our opinions will run parallel ( , he concedes tactfully. normally, he does not readily dismiss a book before examining it himself. but, after so many inaccurate and fulsome analyses of history that serve nothing but to support a group's claim of greatness and destiny, he is weary. for him, though, the assurance is never in question as atticus's true opinions will parallel those expressed in mr. bernard stirling's book.

because atticus is mr. bernard stirling. )

[moralized]

[ Mary's eyebrows knit together in concern. She hasn't heard of the inaccuracies of modern travelogues and it gives her pause. All her knowledge of the world comes from reading such material and she had always been confident that what she was reading was accurate. Why would it not be? Publishing costs are so great that it seems unfeasible to her. Naturally in her naivete she doesn't think on the possibility of a writer wanting to make sure their work sells by embellishing details. ]

I had not realized the practice of praise had led to such inaccurate accounts. It is a true pity for I have not traveled and am therefore reliant on the knowledge these authors possess on the subject. Is the practice truly so widespread within the travelogue community?